


The Storm

by anonymous_moose



Series: Sizzle It Up! with Taako and Co. [6]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Nightmares, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 08:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11802735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_moose/pseuds/anonymous_moose
Summary: Angus McDonald doesn't think of himself as a child, and hasn't for many years. But he is still twelve years old, and some traumas take a long time to heal.Angus remembers. Taako tells a story. Profundity is, often, entirely accidental.





	The Storm

Angus is in his bed. It's big, big like his room, too big for him and it always has been. It's dark outside his bedroom window. A gust of wind spatters rain against the glass.

Lightning flashes outside his window, and a peal of thunder follows. He jumps and tenses beneath the covers. The thunder must have woken him. He won't get back to sleep now. He wants his parents. Maybe they'd let him sleep in their bed.

Angus pushes back the covers and climbs out of his bed. He reaches for his glasses on the nightstand, has to stand on tiptoes to reach them. He steps over scraps of paper, a stack of books, a wooden dragon toy, and pulls open his bedroom door.

The house is dark and empty. Long, dark hallways stretch into nothingness. He knows the way to their bedroom, though. Or he thinks he does.

As he pads softly down the corridors of the McDonald estate, one hand touching the wall to anchor him in the darkness, Angus thinks that everything is bigger than he remembers it being. Or he is smaller. The little sconces on the walls are close to the ceiling, the small decorative table in one hall is at eye level. A vase sits upon it, and he can't tell what's inside, couldn't reach it even if he jumped for it.

Angus continues down the halls, painted walls tacky beneath his fingers. He passes by one of the staircases downstairs, curving stairwell full of long, strange shadows. Railings, he reasons, or banisters, nothing more. But he doesn't linger after looking at them.

In the distance, Angus sees light for the first time beyond the flashes from the windows; a thin strip of yellow-gold cutting beneath a door. His parents' bedroom, it must be, they're up and awake, probably reading again. Angus jogs forward, anxious to see them, to be with them, to sit between them in their own too-big bed and feel safe in their arms.

He feels molding beneath his hand, the doorframe at the end of the hallway. The light warms his feet, tickles them. He smiles even as the window rattles at the end of the hall and lightning flashes outside, and throws open the door.

Hot. So hot. Washing over him, so fast he slams his eyes shut and stumbles backward, shielding his face. He peeks out from behind his hands and sees only red, orange, yellow, licking up the walls and spreading across the floor, the room seeping fire like a wound.

Angus runs. He runs as fast as his too-short, too-small legs will carry him, as the light behind him brightens in the hall and the heat at his back grows stronger. He runs and he doesn't look back, can't look back, he's too scared of what he'll see, too scared he won't be fast enough.

He stumbles and nearly falls down a staircase, swinging around the banister. He races through the first floor, as empty as the second. He runs and he runs, thinking of the front door, of the street outside, of the neighbors down the road who would help if they knew, who would have to help, someone has to help–

Angus bursts out the front doors, shaking, shuddering, dripping with sweat. His glasses are foggy and the rain outside is hard, he can't see. He tears them off and tosses them aside, useless now, useless–

He reaches the gate at the front of the yard and turns around, and even without his glasses he sees the fire, looming so large over the roof of the house, his house, his parents' house, that it's impossible to miss. It's bright and hot and he can feel it from where he stands. The rain isn't stopping it. It's everywhere.

Angus is suddenly conscious of the sound of his heart, not a _thud_ but a _whoosh_ , a sweeping rush of blood through his ears in time with the billowing storm beating down on him. His eyes are wet, with tears and rain and sweat and blood, and he realizes he's screaming, but he can't hear his own voice. He can't hear himself call for his mother or father, his grandfather, he can't even hear the thunder anymore.

Lightning crashes down around him, bolts so close he feels the pressure wave smack him in the chest, and he just stands there, screaming, screaming and no one's there, no one's coming, no one, no one–

* * *

 

Angus woke with a shout, covered in cold sweat, tangled in his bedsheets in the dark. He kicked at them briefly, tried to free himself until he looked up and saw through the haze of his astigmatism a series of softly glowing blobs.

Stars. Pasted to the ceiling of the wagon, above the bed.

His bed. His wagon. His home.

A light flashed outside the window beside his bed, a distant rumble of thunder following. Angus tensed and took deep, slow breaths. He reached up and touched his throat when he realized it hurt.

Suddenly, the door threw itself open. A figure appeared in the doorway.

"Angus?!" Taako called.

Angus immediately started wiping his face with the edge of his sleeve. "Sir?" he called weakly, his throat raspy. "I'm – I'm okay, I'm–"

Taako was by his bedside before he could finish drying his eyes. "Like hell. Are you hurt? What's goin' on?"

Angus curled in on himself a little. Ever since he'd gotten sick a couple weeks ago, Taako had been softer to him, gentler, more attentive. It was a little surreal, in all honesty, but he knew it wouldn't last forever.

Though part of him wanted it to. Even though he was twelve years old and shouldn't need it, shouldn't want to be hugged or coddled or carried like a baby-

Taako touched his shoulder, long fingers squeezing very gently. "Angus," he said softly, and he sounded scared. "You were screaming."

Another flickering flash of lightning, another faraway peal of thunder. Angus tensed again. No rain on the window. But he could still hear it, heavy drops spattering against the glass, wind rattling the pane.

"I–" Angus realized he was crying again, sniffled and swiped at his eyes, shielding them with a trembling hand. "I had a nightmare."

Taako said nothing. Angus felt the bed beneath him shake and shift as Taako sat next to him. After a moment, he wrapped an arm around Angus' shoulders. Angus leaned into him, curled up against his chest, and couldn't stifle the sob that escaped his chest.

"You're alright, pumpkin," Taako murmured, his other hand stroking Angus' head. "You're okay."

Angus sniffed again, felt tears streak his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry," he sobbed.

"Shhh."

Angus cried into Taako's chest. He wasn't sure for how long. Enough for the thunder to grow more distant, the lightning eventually nothing more than silent flickers in the clouds, the only sound he could hear the soft and regular _thud_ of Taako's heart.

Eventually, Angus shifted, pulled away. He sat up, legs dangling over the edge of his bed and wiped at his eyes with a wet sleeve.

"Can I have my glasses, please," he asked. Taako turned on the bedside lamp before snatching the glasses off the nightstand and handing them to him. Angus put them on with a sigh and looked up.

Taako looked stricken, torn halfway between fear and a fierce protectiveness. Angus recognized the look; he'd seen it before when Taako felt emotionally cornered, unable or unwilling to flee.

Angus opened his mouth to speak, but Taako moved first – he stood up and stepped over to the sink, pulled a glass from a cabinet next to it and filled it with cold water. Then he turned and wordlessly handed Angus the glass.

He drank it greedily. His throat was still sore, and the cool water helped. Angus mumbled a quiet thank you, and Taako immediately took the glass and refilled it. Another draught, another empty glass. This one Taako took and set aside before turning around and leaning against the sink.

They stared at each other for a moment. Taako looked away, that look still playing across his face. He drummed his fingers against the white porcelain, crossed his legs at the ankles.

Angus didn't need to ask what he'd been screaming.

"We don't–" Angus cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. "We don't have to talk about it, if you don't want."

"S'not up to me," Taako said simply. "I mean... if you don't wanna, it's fine."

After a long moment, Angus decided. "I don't."

He looked up and caught Taako visibly hesitating. "You sure?" he asked.

Angus nodded. "I'm sure."

Taako's shoulders sagged in relief, and he shook out his arms, moving to sit back down next to Angus.

"Nightmares suck," he grumbled. Angus huffed quietly, and the corner of Taako's mouth twitched up. "I don't like 'em either."

"You don't have to sleep, though."

"Yeah, and I don't have to cook, either, but we gotta do what we love, right?"

Angus laughed a little. Taako full-on smiled and put an arm around his shoulders again.

"I don't have them very often," Angus explained, looking at the floor. "I guess it was the thunder that did it."

"The thunder?"

Angus nodded ruefully. In the cold light of lucidity, he felt childish and stupid.

"Was scary when I was a kid, too."

Angus looked up, surprised. Taako glanced away and shrugged weakly.

"Me 'n Lup, sometimes we didn't have a place to go, y'know?" he explained. "And some folks didn't take too kindly to some street rats hidin' under their cafe awning or on their covered porch, right? So we'd have to run from one spot to another, try not to get too wet, jumping every time the lightning struck too close."

He looked away, gesturing with his free hand as he told the story. "Once, we were under a bridge, waiting for a storm to pass. The sky was this sickly green color I'd never seen before. The wind was whipping through, strong enough to knock you down. We started hearing this banging noise from the bridge, and we realized it was hail. We'd never seen hail before."

Taako scoffed and shook his head. "For a minute, under that bridge, I thought it was the end of the world."

"It wasn't, though," Angus said softly.

Taako looked at him and grinned crookedly. "Nah," he said. "Was just a bad storm. The end of the world came way later."

Angus felt himself smile without meaning to. Taako smiled back.

"You, uh." Taako glanced away and shrugged. "You want me to stay? Or, wait, strike that, reverse it – you wanna come sleep in my wagon?"

Angus furrowed his brow. "What about Mr. Kravitz?"

"Oh, he's workin', kiddo," Taako said, as if it were obvious. "He'd be right here with you if he weren't."

"No, I know," Angus said quickly. "I just mean – when he gets back, I don't want to–"

"Pfft." Taako flicked his hand dismissively. "He can sleep on the floor for one night, if he even bothers – bone dogg needs sleep even less than I do."

Angus felt the last bit of tension in his chest ebb away. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Are there any cookies left?"

Taako smirked, ruffling Angus' hair a bit too hard as he stood. "You got good priorities, little man. C'mon."

Angus grinned. He slipped his feet into his slippers and made sure to turn off his bedside lamp before he followed after Taako.

A bad storm wasn't the end of the world, after all. It was scary when it happened, left damage in its wake, but it was still just a storm.

And all storms pass eventually.

* * *

 

Kravitz stepped through the portal onto the grass hill they'd made camp on. It was early morning, just past dawn. He sighed and tossed his scythe aside – some days, litigating the fate of the dead and dying simply wasn't much fun.

He tossed his cloak aside and it dispersed to shadowy ash as he ascended the short stairs to the wagon door. He knocked, as he usually did, but got no answer. After a moment, he frowned, pulled out his key and unlocked the door.

Taako was asleep on their canopy bed, snoring quietly. His arm was wrapped around Angus' shoulders, tucked next to him. Across his lap lay a thick, leather-bound book – _The Humors: A Complete Collection of the Jokes, Gags, Goofs and Gaffes of Faerun_. (A gift from Merle, if Kravitz remembered correctly.) On the nightstand, a white dinner plate sat covered in crumbs. A single almond-chocolate-chip cookie remained.

Kravitz was a bit thankful Taako wasn't awake to see the dopey grin on his face. He'd have teased him for it all week.

As quietly as he could, Kravitz snuck over, plucked the last cookie from the plate, and left the wagon.

They could sleep in today.


End file.
